


Frutta

by vegas9000



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Violence, Praise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegas9000/pseuds/vegas9000
Summary: Will and Hannibal discuss a childhood memory.





	Frutta

**Author's Note:**

> i havent ever written and published hannibal fanfic before BUT here it is it took me like two weeks cus of a bunch of personal shit however i hope its still worthy
> 
> if you can, read this while listening to serenade in e major for strings, op. 22: ii. menuetto by antonin dvorak

      "Is that what you want?" Hannibal asks.

 

      "To grab him by the head and shove him underwater? Yes. I did it once when I was a kid." Will begins, gripping the arm of the couch and swallowing thickly. "I didn't drown him but I choked him until his heart stopped. His name was David Sayer. I was 12 and he was 13 at the time. I'm not even sure how—how it happened. All I remember is he cornered me at the park I went to every day after school. He—he must have followed me. I don't remember what he said, I just know that he wanted to hurt me. It was self defense."

 

      "What was self defense?" Questions Hannibal, crossing his legs and placing the clipboard full of Will's progress notes onto the coffee table between them. In the air lingers a mist of curiosity and denial. It's drawing Hannibal in.

 

      "Killing," Will murmurs and inhales sharply. He stammers just once this time, almost like it was an effort to force belief onto his own words. Will sounded like he was trying to convince himself he was innocent. "Killing David was self defense."

 

      Will Graham talks like it hurts to, talks like if he says anything more it'll kill him. It'll kill him the same way he ended David's life; hands wringing out his lungs dry. It feels like that to Will regardless. No matter what he says to Hannibal, he feels he's being stripped naked and cranked anew.

 

      Hannibal has a different perspective. Maybe one that Will has no idea of, or does. The point of tonight is to open Will Graham up and dissect him like a grade school frog, despite how silly that sounds. As his therapist Hannibal is legally inclined to treat him in a method that is in his best interest. That means officially and professionally. That also means taking apart every corner of his brain and finding what makes him move. Sometimes Hannibal does it for his own enjoyment. This recollection clearly does affect him, as Will is tensing his jaw and fists in his seat. He's an empath that experiences emotions tenfold, but even then, Hannibal finds it hard to determine from a professional standpoint whether his feelings towards his childhood killing is positive or negative. Maybe it is the grim reality that pleases Will. Any and all previous records Hannibal has of Will say he potentially gets off on it. Hannibal does too.

 

      "You insist it was self defense, but you are not fidgeting because it bothers you. Did you enjoy killing David?" Hannibal finally says. It's a probing question. Will stares at Hannibal like his eyes are burning holes into his skull. The flecks of deeper blue Hannibal can make out seem electric, but Will can't hold eye contact for very long. His eyes shift to the rug.

 

      "Of course I did."

 

      "And what did you feel?"

 

      "I felt powerful. I felt like nobody could stop me. I knew David wanted to take advantage of me, so I did it first. I pushed him down and sat on his chest, and used my feet to keep his hands from touching me all the while I crushed his windpipe. I remember feeling like my body was on fire. It was the adrenaline." Will exhales sharply and unevenly. It is an attempt to maintain his composure. "He choked and cried for help but any hidden strength I had back then went into bruising his neck. I don't know how I did it. I was that kid that weighed 90 pounds wet. In less than five minutes he stopped breathing." Will explains. His breath is coming short and fast by now, and he's toying with the hem of his coat. He still doesn't look at Hannibal in the eye. "If I focus hard enough I can still feel his pulse underneath my palms. I can—can still feel his fear."

 

      "Why is this memory so arousing to you?" Hannibal says, now truly fixed on Will's expression. There's something carnal in his face. It looks like a raw power that seeks to destroy and be destroyed. Will is a child straining to impress and love. Hannibal sees that he has the capability to protect himself, but to also harm. Will has the strength to fend for his life and also take them. Such vigor in Will's case ends lives more than it saves. To have such control is a thrill. To have it played with is even more exciting. Hannibal stores these points into his subconscious.

 

      "Because I—I was young. Exposed to the reality of life and death that it grew on me. Maybe—maybe it was just... instinct. I was bullied and picked on for being small and quiet, and killing him was my first taste of dominance. I should thank him for the meal." Will mumbles and sighs.

 

      "The danger keeps you interested. The exchange of power comforts you. But you are not satisfied because it is so fleeting. That's why you continue to fantasize of murder. That's why you sometimes think of killing me." Hannibal says, purposefully. There's no pause whatsoever, Will snaps out of his trance and rolls his eyes so far they could fall into the back of his head.

 

      "Oh, don't act so coy. You've thought of killing me more times than necessary. You dream of digesting me when you're not awake and too busy contemplating stabbing me in the throat with your letter opener. You knew you wanted to murder me the moment we met." Will scoffs and his demeanour shifts entirely. His brow becomes furrowed and the corners of his mouth hardened. "I have scars to prove that."

 

      Hannibal shows the slightest of smirks, then stands.

 

     "To each their own." Is all Hannibal can say. He isn't prepared to judge Will, especially when his vices are his own and they share the same feelings. It would be hypocrisy and Hannibal is nothing if he isn't a man of respect and good nature. In fact, if honesty was a staple asset in Will's psychotherapy then Hannibal would say he's thrilled that Will loves the thrill. Let him have his cake and eat it too.

 

      "I fantasize of more than just eating you, my dear Will." Hannibal says, grabbing the clipboard and his pen and setting it on his desk. Spare papers, notes, sheets and forms sit on the cherry oak wood, but it is none of Hannibal's interest when he notices said letter opener. It lays there in its steel glory, and Hannibal picks it up. He turns on his heel and holds it for Will to see. He has his attention now.

 

      "I fantasize of torturing you. I think of your hair in my hands and your tears on my face." He begins to speak and encounter a wide eyed Will on his sofa, taking long striding steps towards his colleague and stopping in front of him. The distance between them is minute, so much so that Will has to tilt his head up and gaze at his therapist. The atmosphere is sinful and unethical.

 

      "I visualize your blanch corpse lying motionless and the stream of blood glistening like red wine. I fantasize of claiming you as mine and putting you inside of my body. Eating, devouring, savouring." Hannibal recites, precisely. Will sits in his spot with his pupils dilated and his chest expanding as he breathes unevenly. He looks divine.

 

      "How come you haven't done that already?" Blurts out Will. Hannibal has to pause and think delicately. He has to sort his lies and truths properly to reel Will in and lay him down the way he wants. Everything so far has been said in naked honesty. Hannibal hurts Will, but never lies to him, and they've only begun on first name basis.

 

      "I would not be able to enjoy your presence if you were dead. The qualities you have now would disappear with you. I'd only have my memories of our last supper." Hannibal explains, now lifting the weapon to graze Will's freshly shaven cheek. His lack of force keeps the blade from sliding into his flesh and nicking blood. There's just enough pressure where Will can feel it and it's potential to harm. He doesn't move one muscle, afraid that Hannibal might do it this time; affirm his desires. Part of it is stimulating. "Fantasizing is harmless. You and I can achieve a lot more in this reality."

 

      "Like what?"

 

      "Each other."

 

      "Is that an invitation?"

 

      "A proposal, if you would have me here."

 

      "Wh—where do you, uh, want me?"

 

      "Where you are sitting."

 

      "Okay, I—" Will tries to speak, but fails to comprehend any words when Hannibal leans down and closes the space between them and kisses him. It's chaste at first. Undeniably tender. But only because Will had no idea it was coming. He familiarizes himself with Hannibal touching him instantly and opens his mouth to taste. Hannibal's tongue is there first, sucking and twirling. Will feels like his skin is bubbling over and quicker than he can realize there is heat growing inside his thighs. It startles him more than it should.

 

      "Hannibal—" he groans out, sighing heavily into his therapists mouth and gripping the sides of his face. Hannibal reciprocates easily with craning his own hand to the back of Will's neck. Will's touch compared to Hannibal's is rough and needy, less light and merciful and more wanton. His desire to impress and stun such a formidable audience rises in Will's chest almost painfully. He wants to put on a show, but he knows that Hannibal is the ring leader this time.

 

      Calling his name once must have been enough because now Hannibal is seating himself beside Will on the sofa, hand holding him still now wrapped around his jugular. It's the same way he strangled David back in his youth; a clear display of dominance. Hannibal doesn't need to speak any words for Will to understand that he can let himself go. Yes, the fear that Hannibal can kill him in less than a second in such a position is there, but he is not David and he is not 12 anymore. The letter opener is nowhere to be seen. It's a simple and unspoken presentation. Will can feel the rush of blood in his veins travel to his face and groin again.

 

      Hannibal hasn't taken his mouth off of Will's yet. In fact, the slip and slide of their tongues is beginning to make him dizzy. Will has distinctly grazed Hannibal's sharp canines and grated teeth. They're meant for eating. Just as Will reaches for his belt, Hannibal breaks away with a wet pop, leaving Will dishevelled and panting. His body tingles for more touch, but Hannibal instead pushes Will's thighs apart.

 

      "It'd be a shame if I didn't take this opportunity to properly taste you." Hannibal says, hands now to himself. The rosy blush on his cheeks tell Will he's enjoying it as much as he is. "But you have to tell me Will."

 

      "Tell you what?" He asks. The doctor doesn't miss a single beat.

 

      "Tell me to continue and tell me to stop."

 

      "No. I—"

 

      "No?" Hannibal repeats. He prepares to lift himself from the sofa.

 

      "No, wait, don't—don't stop. Please, Hannibal." Will huffs. The arousal in his body strikes through all his nerve endings, begging as much as Hannibal is making him for a little bit of touch. Will cannot let this end so soon, yet he has to laugh at himself. A strained chuckle leaves him as he props himself against the arm of the couch. "Please, touch me."

 

      Without a word Hannibal is back into Will's graces and unbuckles his jeans ridiculously slow. Hannibal takes every second of his time to undo the clasp of Will's belt and buttons before dipping his thumbs into the hem and lazily pulling them down. He reveals the growing bulge in Will's dark boxer briefs. Will wants to turn his head away in embarrassment but the small peek of Hannibal’s tongue darting to wet his lips once he sees his yielding cock seems too much of a reward to ignore. It’s easy for Hannibal to see too, because now Will’s dick is collecting pre-cum and dampening the fabric of his underwear shamelessly. Hannibal doesn’t bother taking Will’s jeans off, knowing some way and somehow Will would soil them all the same with his cum or his sweat. He pulls Will’s pants far down enough that they coil around his right ankle, now alongside with his briefs. Will’s cock juts out at him. Combined with his begging expression and scent of arousal filling the air, Hannibal’s meal right in front of him has never looked more beautiful. Will allows Hannibal to manipulate, stretch, push and pull at his body whichever way he desires. He trusts him to the extent to submit, enough where Hannibal can enjoy moulding Will to his image of perfect design. It always ends with Will’s face red, his mouth wet, his eyebrows knitted together, his thighs shaking, his hole full and his cock barely softening. He undoes him every single time.

 

      Will never struggles either. He gives himself over fully and promptly, albeit always nervous of the outcome, but never regretful. Hannibal doesn’t need to work hard to yank him free of his bonds because Will is so, so well behaved. Hannibal reminds Will of this when Will attempts to reach out and grab the doctor.

 

      “Hands to yourself, Will.” says Hannibal, firm and commanding but soft. It sends a shake to Will each time his self control is tested. Reluctantly, and obediently, Will pulls his hands back to himself and grabs handfuls of his flannel while Hannibal grips his hard cock. He tugs once and twice gently, expert fingers delicately working the flushed skin and pulling sighs of breath from Will. Hannibal’s thumb glides over the glans and spreads the moisture down to the rest of his shaft. His hypersensitive body responds gorgeously to Hannibal’s touch, Will’s hips jerking forward as he gasps for air. Hannibal has to steady Will by stroking the curve of his thigh and hushing him quietly. The comfort is nice and uplifting, but Will can’t hold back the whimper in his throat.

 

      “Hannibal, Hannibal,” Will coos, his breath quickening the more his doctor jerks his cock. The feeling is entirely electric. Hannibal’s hands are calloused just in the right way, exactly where he holds his pen and knife, and the rest of his skin is soft and gentle. In a different time Will might’ve been against Hannibal touching him entirely, but he was here now on his doctor’s couch with sweat dotting his body and his cock leaking as if Will was some whore. Hannibal’s whore, maybe. Thinking of such degradation sparks something warm and deep inside him. Will noticeably flinches.

 

      “You’re doing well, Will.” Hannibal purrs. Maroon eyes flick from Will’s desperate face to the leaking head of his dick. His thumb is constantly darting forward and backward to catch the moisture.

 

      “Hannibal—your mouth,” Will barely gasps out. His head is resting on the arm of Hannibal’s sofa, Adam’s apple bobbing with every single breath and moan that’s ripped out of him. Will Graham is a beauty in itself. He represents the very nature of fine arts. No sharp blade could replicate his torn and scuffed features. Hannibal stores this memory, this scent of Will, deep into his mind for a later date. He’ll retouch on that another time, but for now he’s taking his hand away and licking the wetness from his palm. Will shoots his head back when he no longer feels Hannibal touching him. It’s strangely beautiful, Hannibal inviting his taste buds for a treat, and staring into Will’s baby blues like they’d pop out of his head. Will can’t help but think that there isn’t going to be anything more pleasing in his life. Before he can even consider what else could be, Hannibal is situating himself between Will’s legs comfortably and taking the head of his cock into his mouth.

 

      “Oh—” Will cries. Every nerve in his system fries the second Hannibal closes around Will. It’s been ages since he’d even had another sexual encounter. Will liked women… and men, but he never went through the stage of being a horny teenager. Maybe this was how it was supposed to feel like, or maybe Hannibal just knows the way Will’s body moves in perfect tandem with his mind. It isn’t a far reach, but Hannibal has to have had experience. His tongue works expertly around Will’s cock, salivating along the shaft and curling around the underside. Hannibal’s sculpted cheeks hollow as he silently sucls, no sound but Will’s voice and the drip of his spit. Will wants to stare and revel in Hannibal’s erotic glory yet the pleasure is so focused that he can’t seem to do anything but squeeze his thighs and keep his hands in his shirt. Hell, they cramp at just thinking about grabbing onto Hannibal, but that’d be bad manners. If Will exhibited any signs of poor etiquette Hannibal would cease all contact and send him home. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that would happen.

 

      “I—I think I’m gonna cum,” Will moans, moans like it’s a key on a piano. Hannibal only blinks once to glance at the other man’s face. Red, flushed and agape. Will looks like a painting in oil. Or the perfectly flawed lines in charcoal. An unfamiliar warmth akin to envy and possessiveness brew within Hannibal’s gut. In less than a minute Will was orgasming. Each ripple of pleasure ran through him like a marathon. Hannibal kept his mouth secured on Will’s cock as he sucked and swallowed. The muscles in his neck contracted, Will’s seed coating the inside of Hannibal’s palate and into his stomach. Shortly after, while Will recouped himself, Hannibal pulled away from him entirely to reach into the breast pocket of his suit. He used the plaid handkerchief there to wipe his mouth dry before standing. It was a movement similar to excusing himself from the table.

 

      “What about you?” Will finally speaks and Hannibal turns, the faintest hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. Will couldn’t look at anything but his chiseled face and hardness poking through his patterned slacks. It was at least nice enough to know that Hannibal had enjoyed himself enough to get hard. Will would take it as a bonus.

 

      “Don’t worry about me.”

 

      “But, you’re… I wanna make you feel good too, Hannibal.”

 

      “ _ I frutti proibiti sono i più dolci _ , my dear Will.”

 

      Will is always impressed whenever Hannibal speaks a language other than English. Every vowel and consonant rolls off his tongue like the taste of wine. It is oddly erotic, but also mesmerizing at the same time. He doesn’t understand what that means, Will just knows it sounds good.

 

_       My dear Will _ . That was twice now. Will shouldn’t feel so embarrassed by it, but he does. A part of him likes it.

 

      “What?” Will questions and begins to tuck himself back into his underwear and shimmy into his jeans. He tightens his belt around his waist and just as he attempts to wipe the sweat off of his palms, Hannibal outstretches a box of tissues. Will takes one with a sheepish smile and a quiet thank you.

 

      “Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest, and you’ll have yours next time.” Hannibal says, the stray strands of hair that had fallen from his face now combed back into place. He’s back into his professional composure, like he hadn’t made Will cum in the first place. The doctor leads Will to the door out of the office, hand on Will’s elbow. “If you’ll allow it.”

 

      Will has to pause at the door. He doesn’t want to leave just yet, though if he stayed it’d be more than imposing. Hannibal Lecter is a man with priorities, and so is Will. There are things needed to be done. However, Will takes the moment to turn and face Hannibal, just a few inches apart. The scent of breath and heat is still there.

 

      “Yeah, I—I would like that. Same time next week?”

 

      “Same time next week.” Hannibal nods, then reaches out. Despite the fact he’d undressed Will and touched him silly, Will can’t control the slight flinch when Hannibal gently takes his wrist. In Hannibal’s own hand is the plaid handkerchief with a wet spot or two, and he places it into Will’s grasp with the most sincere earnesty. Hannibal’s touch is so light Will can barely feel their skin touch. Will grips around the fabric and looks at Hannibal once more. Suddenly the fine lines in his face hold his interest.

 

      “Something to remember this by.”

 

      “I don’t think I could ever forget this if I tried. Thank you, Hannibal.” Will smiles, genuinely, for the first time in ages. It’s quick to fade.

 

      “You were very good today, Will.”

 

      With that, Will is gone. On the way home, he replays the moment in his mind over and over. His heart beats unnaturally fast and his fingers tap against the steering wheel with no particular rhythm. Next time. Next week.

 

      At home Will takes his dogs out for a short walk before dinner and bed. Winston is the only one who joins him that night.


End file.
